


Monster High 1814

by Dramatyx



Category: Monster High
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, fluff in later chapters just bear with me, lots and lots of angst, will add more tags and characters as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramatyx/pseuds/Dramatyx
Summary: A fanfiction chronicling the events that ensue at Monster High in 1814 after the events of Freaky Fusion. The story centers on Victor Frankenstein as he finds himself in the school and monsters around him. I have had these ideas and characters floating around for a while, so enjoy!
Relationships: Sparky | Victor Frankenstein & Hexiciah Steam, Sparky | Victor Frankenstein & Original Character(s), Sparky | Victor Frankenstein/Original Male Character
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

“Ashamed” couldn’t begin to describe how Victor Frankenstein felt at the current moment.

He clutched at a worn broomstick as he stared down at the cold floor. His lips were knit together tightly by the disgusting pit of guilt that festered in his stomach. His eyes didn’t dare to look up, lest they catch a glimpse of his one and only mentor and companion giving him a solemn look of disapproval that would twist the hurt in his heart like a knife. 

He had well and truly ruined everything. His single-minded ambition to create life had resulted in a bastardized version of what could be considered a life form rampaging through what Monster High would eventually become. His mistakes nearly cost the life of his granddaughter, the only thing he grew to care about in his previously solitary existence. The details of time travel seemed minute in the presence of the new and overwhelming feelings Victor found himself suffering. In the chaos that had transpired just days prior, something moved inside the boy that seemed to open his eyes to the true human experience of empathy and love, and with it, inevitable heartbreak and suffering. And he only had himself to blame for it all.

The more he thought about it all, the more the it bore down on him. He felt his breathing become rough and uneven as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. They stung his mismatched eyes and threatened to spill out and pool in his glasses. He quickly blinked them away, taking a deep, shuddering breath in a desperate attempt to gain some control over his emotions. It was getting harder and harder to do that now, he found. Before this, he could just shut them out like he did the rest of the world. He always thought from a young age that solitude was better than getting hurt over and over again. Suffice it to say, that was long gone. There was no running from this.

Swallowing a lump that formed in his throat, Victor worked up the courage to say something, anything to break the oppressive silence. “Pr-Professor Steam,” he stammered out, voice hushed and laced with hesitation, “Is there anything else you need help with?” 

Upon hearing this, Hexiciah Steam looked up from the mahogany teaching desk, having just finished grading tests. When Victor did manage to pry his eyes off of the floor, the sight he was met with surprised him. Hexiciah didn’t look angry with him. Not at all. Not even disappointed, like he had expected. He wore a warm, inviting expression. He had the same kind smile as always, eyes scrunched ever so slightly. It both relieved and terrified Victor. If Hexiciah had been upset or disappointed like he was with Victor when they first came back through the portal, then Victor would have known what was coming. Of course, Professor Steam was never truly harsh with him, not like the borderline draconian teachers he had as a child. He just offered a sort of fatherly method of criticism, one that told Victor that he wanted him to improve and learn from his mistakes. But this certainly wasn’t that. If it were, Victor could at the very least know what was coming. He could mentally prepare himself for a stern lecture that would make him wallow in guilt. But now, he didn’t wear that familiar look of concern and frustration. He seemed calm, a type of calm that Victor wasn’t used to just yet.

“That will do, thank you, Victor.” The voice of his teacher pulled him out of his thoughts. It was smooth and melodic, like always, and it grounded him to the present lest his mind wander through the past. Victor began to put away the broom he had been using to sweep the floors, having volunteered his time to helping Hexiciah clean up after classes ended for the past few days. It was busy work, but it was much preferred to leaving and being alone with his thoughts.

As he knelt down to collect his books, a familiar feeling of a cold metal hand on his shoulder prompted him to stand and face his teacher. “Are you feeling alright, my boy?” Hexiciah asked, a twinge of sadness in his usually mirthful tone. As Victor’s eyes moved to look up into the eyes of the much taller man, he pondered what he would say to him. The suffocating feelings of guilt and shame still had a vice grip around his throat, and he could feel fresh tears well up behind his glasses. “No,” he managed to croak out, “I’m really not.” 

At this, Hexiciah pulled Victor to his side wrapping an arm around his shoulder. This completely shattered Victor’s resolve to hold his emotions back. Victor’s mismatched eyes blurred with tears. He could feel them run down his face as his body shook with sobs that clawed their way out of his chest. Hexiciah’s hand ran up and down Victor’s arm as he attempted to comfort him in solemn silence. The two stayed like this until Victor was able to calm his breathing enough to utter out a single sentence.

“I’m so fucking alone.”

As Victor took in more shuddering breaths, Hexiciah’s grip on him tightened. “You aren’t, Victor,” he stated with conviction, “Not anymore.”  
Victor took off his spectacles and dried first his eyes, then the lenses on the edge of his coat. He peered up at the professor. Hexiciah spoke once more, his expression once again softening. “You aren’t alone anymore, Victor. I am right here.” Victor smiled faintly, wiping away the last of his tears. “Thank you.,” he said a bit shakily, “thank you very much, sir. I quite needed to get that out of my system.” Hexiciah smiled down at him, patting him on the back before letting him go. “Of course. When you’re ready to talk, just let me know. You know where I am when I’m not teaching,” Hexiciah said with a smile. After gathering his books and quills into a satchel, Victor left the school, taking a deep breath as he collected himself once more. He felt a weight had disappeared from his shoulders. He no longer feared the judgment of the only person he cared for. He now knew, for the first time in a long time, that he was not alone.


	2. Chapter 2

The halls of Monster High bustled with energy. Students conversed with each other, filling the air with hundreds of voices along with the thumping of footsteps. It was the end of another day of school, and while most students filed out the doors to head home to their families, Victor was most certainly not. He weaved through the crowds of students and past young couples linked arm in arm. He could feel cold stares from self-important mansters as he passed them. As the only normie in the all-monster school, it was common for him to receive hostile or quizzical looks from monsters who felt he didn’t belong. He tried his best to ignore them, focusing instead on his own footsteps as he carried on his way. 

Most of the crowds in the hallway had long since dispersed by the time he reached Hexiciah Steam’s classroom. Of all the places in and out of Monster High, this was where he felt the safest. His shoulders relaxed and the breath that he sighed out the breath caught in his throat. He cautiously poked his head through the doors and sauntered in. To his surprise, the professor was nowhere to be seen. Victor shrugged and set his books down on the frontmost row to Hexiciah’s desk. As he waited, the thought of being too intrusive crossed his mind. He considered that perhaps his teacher was attending other, more important matters, and that he should leave. Just as Victor gathered his books into his arms, the sound of the towering wooden doors to the classroom made him jolt. 

“Ah, Victor! You’re here early,” Hexiciah greeted with that ever-present smile of his. Victor returned the smile. “I just hope that I’m not obstructing you in any way,” he said, returning the smile, albeit warily. It had been a long time since he had smiles in true earnest. “Not at all, dear boy,” Hexiciah said, patting Victor’s shoulder and accidentally sending the boy off-balance, “in fact, I am in need of an extra pair of hands in my workshop if such matters interest you.” Victor immediately perked up at the thought of this. He had always been eager to learn from the professor, but potentially working with him in his lab excited him beyond what was probably reasonable. His toes curled in excitement and his smile grew. “Of course, I would love to!” he exclaimed louder than he meant to. Hexiciah let out a hearty chuckle at Victor’s barely contained enthusiasm. “Then come along now, it’s important that we get there in a timely manner,” Hexiciah said with a bemused smile.

Victor once again gathered his books and followed Hexiciah out of the classroom. The two walked in a comfortable silence until they entered the front courtyard of the school, where Hexiciah pulled a hidden lever to summon a lift. At that moment, Victor recalled back the memories that he had been distracted from with the relative peacefulness and normalcy that had been built up by the past week. The memories of his own selfish acts took hold of him and and gripped him like a snake with a field mouse. He felt his hands shaking, and suddenly all of his surroundings seemed to close in on him. The crows that cawed off into the distance seemed to multiply until all he could hear was their echoed screams, one after the other. Then, everything went quiet. A silent ringing covered his ears, and all he could feel was numbness in his senses. He could see that he had entered the lift with his professor, and he could feel that it was slowly descending, but none of it registered. It meant nothing to him. He was operating, but not feeling, too lost in his own mind. 

“So, Victor, would you like to tell me about your past?” The voice of his teacher pulled him out of his thoughts. It felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on his head. He blinked quickly in surprise, jumping inwardly. He swallowed, noting how dry his throat had become. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” he replied. In the light of Hexiciah’s lantern, he could see a fleeting look cross Hexiciah’s face, like he regretted what he had said. “I meant, would you like to discuss anything about your past with me? Unless of course, you wouldn’t want to. That would be perfectly understandable,” he said in a quick ramble, “I just feel that perhaps it would be beneficial.” Victor pondered his words for a moment. In truth, he had never discussed his past with anyone. He hadn’t anyone to tell it to, after all. And with all the regrets festering in his heart, he decided that letting it out would lessen the burden, just as he found letting himself cry had. He nodded and took a deep breath.

“Well, to start, I never knew my parents. I learned from medical records that I was born on January 30th, 1798, to a woman named Abigail Frankenstein. She died shortly after I was born, and my father either died before I was born or walked out. Either way, I was raised in an orphanage. There, I received education and found myself a love of science. The matrons there were rather cruel, I would say. They had me and the other children adhere to strict rules, especially in schooling. I’m actually left-handed, but I was forced to use my right hand to write or they would beat me and smack my left with a switch. It was for some stupid religious reason. I didn’t have any real friends growing up, I suppose. I’ve always been alone.” He paused to look at Hexiciah. As expected, he looked worried and saddened. Victor felt a twinge of guilt for burdening him with this information, but pressed on. 

“When I was thirteen and still unadopted, they kicked me out. They thought I was old enough to live on my own, so they didn’t want me using their resources and taking up their charity work. What saints they were,” he added with sarcasm. “So, I was left on my own. I lived on the streets for a week, stealing food and trying to survive. Then I found myself at the gates of a workhouse” Before, Victor could continue Hexiciah interrupted him, forcing the both to stop walking through the catacombs. “Hold on now, you lived at a workhouse?!” Hexiciah exclaimed with shock. It was clear to Victor that Hexiciah was quite familiar with the cruelty and bad reputation of workhouses. Hexiciah shook his head in disbelief, shock now replaced with intense concern. “Just how long did you live at this workhouse?” he said with careful conviction. Victor paused once more, considering stopping here and now to spare Hexiciah from any more concern. Reluctantly, he continued. “Two years,” he said sheepishly. Hexiciah opened his mouth to speak, but shut it quickly, allowing Victor to carry on speaking.

Victor sighed deeply, feeling the sting of pain coming back fron reminiscence. “I lived at this workhouse for two years. When I arrived, I hadn’t eaten in days, and I was not in any position to turn down a meal. So, in exchange for freedom, what little belongings I had, and all of my energy and labor, I lived there. I heard someone describe it as the closest thing to hell on earth, and they would be right. I was told when to wake up and when to fall asleep, fed meager amounts food, forced to do grueling labor, and denied contact with anyone else who was at the workhouse. I was allowed to continue with schooling, which is something I am truly grateful for to this day. I attended a public school where I faced the same loneliness as I had at the orphanage. During the day I would wake up before dawn to complete physically taxing jobs such as grinding up boned or breaking apart rocks with a hammer, then I would attend school and rush back to the workhouse to fit in more labor. If the masters and matrons felt I did not meet my quota for the day, I would be denied food. It was cold and painful and terrible. I had no real choice in the matter. Life was a constant struggle to survive, and every day I would wake up dreading the day to come. It was either that, or starve to death on the streets.” As he said those words, a phantom pain in his stomach ached, the familiar sting of hunger. Of all the advantages his life had now compared to his past, having a steady food source was the greatest.

“Then, things luckily changed for me. Truthfully, I’m not sure how much longer I could have continued on like that. In the school I attended, a teacher apparently saw something in me, and decided to choose me for the proposed normie exchange program. It truly was a godsend for me. I was able to finally leave that hell of a workhouse and find an apartment close to Monster High.” Victor smiles faintly, looking at his teacher. Hexiciah had a bittersweet grin, sadness in his eyes. He put his hand on Victor’s shoulder, clearing his throat. He looked down, seeming to look for the right words to say. Hexiciah cleared his throat. “Victor,” he said calmly, “what is your living situation now? Are you in need of help?” 

Victor shook his head. The word “living” seemed misleading to him. He survived, but as Hexiciah said once before, He didn’t know what it meant to live. His heart beat and he was breathing, but he knew that’s not what being alive is. Victor spoke up. “I’m alright, but thank you for your concern. I share an apartment with a very amiable manster on the lower west side of town. He pays the landlord most of the rent and allows me to attend school. Nice man, he is. I support myself by working as a gravedigger. I got the job because no one else wanted to. I’m not really phased by death or dead things, if you hadn’t noticed,” he added with a bitter chuckle. “It’s how I earn enough to eat and clothe myself.” 

Hexiciah went silent, pondering the information Victor had given him. “Well, alright then,” he said, “just please tell me if you need any help.” Victor sighed and nodded. “I will, I will.” Hexiciah stopped the two of them and took Victor by the shoulders, turning him towards him in one swift motion. He looked down into the boy’s eyes with a burning intensity. “Victor, I need you to promise me right now that you will tell me if you need my help. Please, Victor, you have struggled enough. I cannot let you struggle like that.” The gravity of his words sent a chill down Victor’s spine. He looked up at Hexiciah, and nodded. “I will, I swear.” To his surprise, Hexiciah pulled him in for a warm embrace. He hesitantly reciprocated, muscles relaxing. “Thank you,” Victor muttered. Hexiciah let go, holding Victor at arm’s length. “Of course, my boy,” he said, the warm smile finally appearing back on his face. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for reference, a “workhouse” was a form of public housing where children and adults in desperate poverty would stay for food and housing in exchange for grueling hard labor under strict discipline and horrible living conditions. I figured that Victor may have realistically as an orphan with no known relatives found himself in some dire living situations since the 1800s were like “fuck them kids”


	3. Chapter 3

Victor stood with eager eyes at the door to the workshop of Hexiciah Steam. His professor stood next to him, trading glances and keeping a close watch on his beloved pocket watch. The only noise that filled the empty caverns of the catacombs was the gentle ticking of that watch. Victor found it’s rhythm to be quite soothing, almost like a heart beat, or the smooth clicking of Hexiciah’s mechanical arm whenever he moved it. Hexiciah spoke up, his voice echoing in the barren caverns. “Now, Victor, I want you to pay very close attention, you understand? You’ll need to know this when you enter my workshop and I’m not there to let you in.” Victor nodded, looking up at him with inquire in his eyes. He felt excitement at the prospect of him growing closer to his mentor and learning what he could from him. After all, he found him to be a genius inventor and mechanic, capable of things far more advanced than what Victor had seen in the past. 

Hexiciah shared with Victor a bemused smile as Victor clutched at his sleeve cuffs, attempting to quell an obvious enthusiasm. “Alright, then, this door opens on the first few seconds of every hour. It’s a clock-based mechanism of rotating rooms. It’s 2:59 now, and it should open in...” Hexiciah looked back down at his watch, one hand on the polished wheel that opened the door. “Three... two... one,” he grunted as he used his force to spin the wheel, letting go and watching it complete a full rotation before the heavy metal door swung open on it’s own weight. What Victor saw inside made his eyes widen and dart around to take the overwhelming sight in. Lining the walls were bookshelves abundant with worn leather bound-journals and dust-ridden volumes probably teeming with information. Scattered throughout the baronial workshop were prototypes and half-finished renditions of new inventions and gadgets. Some looked fresh off the workbench, with shining gears and experimental designs, while others were derelict, shoved off to the side and not properly cared for. Off in a far corner was a massive object with a domed top that was concealed in a tarp. Victor knew immediately what it was. It was that damned time teleporter, lurking ominously behind the coverings. He felt a knot form in his throat. He truly hated being reminded of that horrible day. Before his mind could wander, Hexiciah delivered to him a hearty pat on the back, making him jolt.

“Straighten up, lad, for we have much work to do,” Hexiciah said with a friendly smile. “I need your help in disassembling some old gadgets of mine that were, to be frank, abysmal failures,” he said with a chuckle, “then we shall clean up a tad and sort out some parts.” Victor perked up, feeling grounded and relaxed. “Yes, sir,” he said before entering the workshop, albeit with caution, fearing that anything he could touch would fall apart. He gazed at all of the sketches hanging up on the walls and cluttering benches, his stare falling on one that caught his eye. It was a sketch of what looked like to be a girl, no older than Frankie. He figured that it was Hexiciah working on his daughter, the robot he saw when he was in the future. He couldn’t help but notice how intricate it was in comparison to the more rough sketches that surrounded it on the workbench. All of the lines were clean and purposeful, being bold and neat. They stood out on the washed out browns of the paper. Most of the professor’s sketches had clearly been done in charcoal or chalk, but this was done in ink. Everything on the page was meant to be there. The notes that surrounded the model on the parchment were nothing short of extensive, paragraphs of tiny words that he couldn’t quite make out. He smiled, knowing that Hexiciah had found something he was well and truly passionate about. It was a sort of wild love that the young Victor had only read about in novels and poetry. He thought that perhaps he would find that love some day.

“Oh, Victor,” Hexiciah called from the other sode of the workshop, “I am in need of your young hands.” Victor chuckled to himself at Hexiciah’s remark, swiftly making his way over to the desk where Hexiciah was seated. “Yes, Mr. Steam?” Victor responded. Hexiciah looked up from his desk, a conglomerate of wiring and gears in his hands. He smiled, turning to face the boy. “I am currently in the rather meticulous task of disassembling my failed gadgets and creations. As you can see, I have quite a lot of those,” Hexiciah said as he gestured to the workshop around him, cluttered with failed works similar to the small cage-like gadget sitting on his desk. “And you need me to help you?” Victor asked, still cautious of touching anything in the workshop. Hexiciah nodded, handing Victor a wrench and a well-worn pair of pliers. “Try and disassemble one of those gadgets against that wall. Keep as many parts in tact and working order as you can. If you need my help with it, let me know,”he said turning back to his work, “But I want to see what you can do unassisted. Put that marvelous brain of yours to work,” he added with a wink. 

Victor quickly set off to the far end of the workshop where he selected a complex mechanism to take a crack at. He paused for a moment before his plier touched the thing. He pondered what Hexiciah had said about him. He thought of how kind Hexiciah was, and how much he had helped him and how not once did he pass judgement through this rough process of healing. He thought about his comforting words. He thought most about how he had taken him in every day after school, offering him a safe place to express pain and sorrow. He was just a student, and he was just a teacher, he didn’t have to do any of that. It would have been much easier for him to simply brush Victor off and leave him to his squalor as everyone else did, but he did not. Every time Victor thought about it, the school day seemed to go by much faster, much easier. He seemed to see something inside of Victor that even Victor wasn’t sure was there. Victor found his mind occupied by this all, and he couldn’t fight the smile that crept on his face. 

Victor’s hands hovered across the body of the invention, looking for some type of vantage point to figure out how the thing worked so he could take it apart. His tapering fingers spun the gears as he watched the path in which they spun and what that spinning did. His eyes followed the line of spinning gears before they settled on a single large gear that held them together. He undid the wiring that held the gear in place and watched them all come loose. He smirked in satisfaction, picking them all off and placing them beside him. As he continued the job, he became so absorbed in the task that he didn’t notice Hexiciah kneel down beside him, watching him work. 

“You’re doing a wonderful job, lad,” Hexiciah spoke softly, voice low as to not startle Victor. Victor turned to him, a bit surprised to see him. “Thank you, sir. I honestly didn’t realize you were there,” Victor said with a chuckle. Victor went back to work, trying to find the spot where he left off, now lost in a tangle of copper and wires. Hexiciah arose to collect the loose parts, eyes still fixed on the concentrating boy. “It’s wonderful to see you so relaxed, lad,” Hexiciah said as he untangled a handful of loose wire. Victor kept his eyes transfixed on the machinery in front of him, eyes following his fingers as they weaved within the mechanics. “I suppose I am more relaxed thanks to you, sir,” Victor responded with a casual tone. Hexiciah hummed in response, the noise echoing through the workshop. “So, are you through with punishing yourself?” Hexiciah asked in a half-joking manner. Victor chuckled to himself, taking his focus away from the clockwork of parts where his hands rested. “Yes, I think so,” he responded, a smile gracing his features as he thought about his circumstances. Hexiciah had inadvertently told him that he could rest his sorrows, that his worries that haunted him could be left in the past, and to Victor, it was exactly what he needed to completely let go. 

The two worked like that in a comfortable silence. It was something that was familiar and comforting to Victor. In his life of chaos and uncertainty, finding some type of relative normal was worth more to him than anything. The clicking of mechanical parts softly echoed in Victor’s ears. It was rhythmic, like a ticking clock. The repetition was only interrupted when Victor felt a cold metal hand on his shoulder, a feeling that was now just as familiar to him as the feeling of glasses perched on his face. “It’s getting rather late, son. You best be heading off,” Hexiciah spoke with a twinge of sadness in his voice. Victor stood up and nodded. “You’re right, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” Victor responded, turning to leave. “Victor,” Hexiciah interjected before Victor proceeded. “Please, be safe.” Victor looked back, mustering a reassuring smile to ease Hexiciah’s worry. “I will, I promise. I swear,” he said is assurance. Hexiciah seemed to visibly relax at this, shoulders easing. “Alright, alright. Now run along,” Hexiciah said in a lighthearted tone. Victor smiled, nodding before making his way into the dark abyss of the catacombs.

The halls of monster high were almost completely barren, serving as an echo chamber for Victor’s footsteps as he walked. The setting sun shone through the windows and bathed the walls in a fiery orange light. Victor slowed his pace to admire this, craning his head to look out of the tall windows at the trees outside that casted shadows within. Ever so faintly, Victor heard birds chirping from outside. He smiled to himself, admiring the beauty of the songbirds and how their wings caught the heavenly light of the sunset. Soon the wind picked up, shaking the fallen leaves of autumn out of the trees and carrying them away on the breeze. Victor’s eyes followed the leaves as they danced in the air before diving to the ground. 

His admiration of nature was suddenly interrupted by a voice shouting “LOOK OUT!” Victor jumped back with a jolt, having barely missed the metal paint can that hit the floor with a loud clang and splattered pale green paint in every direction. Before Victor could react to the paint that had inevitably gotten on him, the same voice that warned him was heard again from far above his head.

“Oh, lord, I’m so sorry! It just slipped out of my hands.” Victor looked up to see a monster with eight limbs, six arms and two legs, scuttling down the barren stark white wall, striking with contrasting dark colors. The monster rushed to the paint can, bending to pick it up and quickly straightening in one swift motion. Two of her arms held the paint can with a nervous vice grip, while two went to straightening out her waistcoat and trousers, and the last two sitting on her hips in a show of displeasure. Victor found himself staring at her hands and arms, how all six of them so effortlessly moved in tandem with each other, performing different tasks with natural ease. His eyes quickly snapped up to look her in the eyes, unsure if it was rude to stare. As soon as he did, they both seemed to get a good look at each other. 

The first thing he noticed were two black orbs above her large, deep brown eyes. He wasn’t sure what they were until they blinked at him, long lashes beating against her face. She was a dusty brown color from what he could see in her forearms and face. Vibrant orange stripes ran up her arms and across her face. She was covered in short bristled hairs, some stained with blotches of thick paint. Her unruly brown curls hung down her face to her waist, unkept and frayed at the ends. She was quite short in stature, only reaching Victor’s lower chest. He found himself actively looking down in order to properly maintain eye contact. Her expression was one of equal parts intrigue and concern. 

“You’re that normie boy, aren’t you?” she said with a curious quirk in her voice. Victor nodded, not being sure which set of eyes to look at. He settled on her largest set of eyes that were more akin to standard eyes. “I am. My name is Victor Frankenstein. And yours?” he asked. “Oh, I’m Spira, Spira Silkie! I would shake your hand but mine are covered in paint,” Spira said with a laugh. Victor smiled. “Well, so am I now, so I really wouldn’t mind.” 

Spira’s eyes shifted down then up again, worry growing on her face. “I’m really sorry about that. It just slipped out of my hands. Do you need any help with-“ “oh, no! It’s fine, really. After all, they’re just clothes. I can wash it out somehow! I’ve had worse splattered on my clothes before,” Victor said interrupting Spira’s concerns. It was only after the last remark left his mouth that he realized how horrible it sounded. To his surprise, instead of reeling back like Victor had expected, Spira seemed to perk up at the off-handed comment. “Really? Like what?” she asked with whole-hearted curiosity in her voice. Victor looked away awkwardly, unsure of how to explain his plights involving cadavers and bodily fluid to a complete stranger, one of his peers no less. “Well,” he started hesitantly, “blood. Lots of blood.” He wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He was now being reminded why he didn’t have any friends. Nice going, Victor old boy.

To his surprise, Spira kept up her curiosity as opposed to disgust. “Blood? That’s curious. Do you hunt? Or how about taxidermy?”  
she asked with her lips quirked in a bemused grin. Victor copied her smile, answering her question with the awkwardness melting away. “No, I don’t have the craftsmanship for taxidermy. I work with cadavers in my studies.” Spira nodded at this, smile remaining. “How fascinating!”

Spira’s head tilted to the side, her eyes transfixed on Victor. “So, why are you here so late? I’ve been painting for a proper three hours and you’re the only other student I’ve seen,” she said gesturing with one pair of hands to the empty hallway around them. Victor noticed then just how far the sun had set, feeling a creeping sense of anxiety over having to report to his master at the town’s mortuary at sundown to start his work.

“Well, I was assisting a teacher with something,” he answered. Spira’s smile widened as she set down the paint can with one arm, holding it steady with another with another picking paint chips out of her untamed curls. “Really? Me too! I offered a few hands for the new arts program to paint the walls. It’s quite a splendid way to to spend an afternoon, I’d say,” she said twirling a paintbrush in her hand.

Victor nodded in agreement, running his fingers over the spine of a leather-bound journal he kept in his satchel. “And it’s not like I have anything else to do after school or anyone to spend the day with,” Victor added with a small smile dampened with bitter sadness. Spira’s smile faltered. She locked eyes with Victor and just gave a look of understanding. She looked down at her feet, hands fiddling with the paint brush in her hands. She tangled her fingers in the bristles, getting even more of the pale color in her hands. “Me too,” she said with a solemn tone.

An uncomfortable air of melancholy set in between them before Victor spoke up again, desperate to change the subject and not ruin another social interaction like he was so used to. “So,” he spoke up, gaze shifting to the walls around them, “do you enjoy painting?” Spira’s expression returned to one of lighthearted joy, the infectious smile of hers returning. “Yes, actually! I really love painting! Of course, not just painting, I work in lots of art forms, but I took the best to oil paints. I’ve always loved it, ever since I was a girl. I always find myself just staring at objects to study how light and shadows react to them.” 

Victor listened to Spira as she continued to ramble on about her passion for art. Her opinions on the advantages and disadvantages of various mediums resonated in his ears as he gazed up at the ceiling, eyes falling on the intricate royal blue designs Spira had been painting. They twisted around each other, linking together like branches woven in a birds nest. Every line had intention and direction. The repeating patterns looks so symmetrical that Victor was amazed when he noticed no reference drawing to speak of on the suspended workbench Spira had been using. She must have freehanded it. Victor stared up with wide eyes, tracing the loops and twists with his gaze. Spira’s words trickled off into nothingness when she noticed Victor’s attention had been captured by her handiwork. 

Victor tilted his head back down to meet Spira, in a state of admiration for her work. “You painted those designs? They’re very beautiful,” he said looking back up at her work. Spira clasped two of her hands together, positively beaming. “You really think so? See, I was wondering if it was the right choice to combine two cool colors and if my strokes were steady enough, and I had to completely redo one of the quatrefoils to make it more reminiscent of the clocks on woven stockings, but overall I would say I’m pleased with the results.” 

Victor’s eyes continued to trace the intricate weavings of the diamond patterns painted above the stretching glass windows. He looked back to Spira, who noticed this change and did the same to meet his eyes. “You really do have a talent for this,” he said. Spira’s smile grew at the positive feedback. She performed a mock-curtsy, pantomiming an invisible skirt to lift. Victor chuckled at this. 

Breaking the thick silence in the air was the ringing of a massive grandfather clock that hung in the main common area just beyond the hallway. It startled Victor, causing him to jump in his skin. The tolling of the chimes reminded him quite bluntly that he needed to leave, lest he be late for his job and receive a docked pay again. Victor smiled softly, clearing his throat. “Well, I suppose I should be leaving. It is getting late after all.” Spira sighed softly, one hand hauling up her paint can and the other grasping at a brush. “You’re right, you’re right. Well,” she said pulling herself up to get a good footing on the wall she clung to, “I have a job to complete.” Victor watched her climb back up the wall, situating herself on a makeshift workbench made of a wood plant held up by two thin strings of silk that glistened in the light of the quickly setting sun. Victor turned to leave, being stopped by Spira interjecting. “Wait,” she said, hanging upside down to look at Victor without turning around. Victor stopped completely. “Victor Frankenstein, was it? I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” she said smiling. Victor nodded and wished her a good evening before parting ways into the dusk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! A new player has entered the game! Spira will be the first of many original characters introduced, so stay tuned, dear readers!


End file.
